


Untitled American Teen!lock AU

by mktellstales



Series: First Draft Brain Dumps [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: American AU, Braindump, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, John is a Californian God, Like the roughest of them all, M/M, Really rough, Sherlock and Mary are brother and sister, Sherlock is a teen!top?, Summer, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 15:08:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11511909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mktellstales/pseuds/mktellstales
Summary: When Mary leaves John for the summer while she settles herself into New York, John finds himself growing closer to her brother, Sherlock, and a summer romance captures them both.Another braindump - another super rough draft of something my brain wouldn't let go of.





	Untitled American Teen!lock AU

**Author's Note:**

> This is super, super, super rough, but it's also something I had a lot of fun with, and can see so much potential into turning into a full fledged (and readable!) story! 
> 
> It also may not be fully done - but I thought in case I don't get around to dumping out the last little bits, this was a good enough place to stop.
> 
> I appreciate everyone who likes these little-unpolished things! It really does help me clear my head to work on the things I'm trying so hard to make beautiful! 
> 
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Sherlock, Mycroft, and Mary don’t remember much of their time in London before they lived in Beverly Hills. Palm trees and beaches are most of the memories they have, and the never ending sun and tan lines are their favorite things. Mary was 16 when they moved, and the first boy she met was John Watson, also an English transplant, but so very California - sandy-haired, golden-kissed skin, pink, green, yellow wayfarers that shielded his changing blue-green eyes. She was instantly in love with him, and he was taken by the prim and proper new girl, who wasn’t so prim and proper when the parents were gone, and there was nothing between them but a lighted swimming pool and a bottle of flavored vodka. They walked the halls hand in hand throughout high school and two years after graduation before Mary leaves the summer of her 19th birthday to finish her communications degree at NYU.  They don’t break up, but don’t agree to be completely faithful either - they’re just going to see what happens, and when John comes to visit at the end of the summer, they’ll figure it out from there. 

Sherlock has of course known John for a long time since he was 14, and he always treated Sherlock better than anyone - except for Mary, whom he’s very close with, and when Sherlock turned 16, John got him a job at the diner owned by Greg Lestrade where he’s been working, and where they continue to work together a year later, while also attending the community college. 

It’s a late night when John and Sherlock are finished closing up the diner. School let out that day, and they were assaulted with celebrations that mostly ended in tears and chocolate malts. The rain they were promised three days ago finally started to fall just as they locked the doors, and Sherlock is waiting outside in it for Mycroft to pick him up when John comes out from the back, scrunched underneath the hood of his gray sweatshirt. He asks Sherlock if he needs a ride home, and Sherlock decides to tell Mycroft not to bother and gets into John’s car.

It’s an old, aqua Toyota that still has a tape deck with a tape from The Cure inside.

_How is this car still running?_

_You don’t even have a car._

_Yes, I do._

_Then why are you always waiting for your brother?_

_I don’t have my license._

_You don’t know how to drive?_

_The DMV and I are split on the answer to that question. For god’s sake, don’t you have anything past 1988 in here?_

Sherlock has been looking through a plastic bin of tapes. John laughs, and shakes his head - he’s pretty sure he might have some stuff from the early 90′s in there, but he really has no idea. The first box to be unpacked when he moved to America were the records he and his sister Harriet collected from the bargain bins at the music shop, and listening to them with her helped take away the pain from her chemo, even if it was just two minutes and thirty-seven seconds, and when she finally died, it helped John take the pain away too.

_Is it because of the tape deck or are you truly just stuck in the 80′s? A time by the way which you weren’t even alive._

_It’s good music._

_How has Mary put up with you for so long?_

_I happen to be an excellent kisser._

_Well, compared to Andrew Trevor, the boy she kissed when she was 10 years old, I would imagine so._

Sherlock lives where all the other mansions are, which isn’t saying much since they’re everywhere, hidden by perfectly sculpted hedges, and rounded foothills. It’s all white and glass, and angled copper bars and John pulls into the rounded driveway.

_Thank you, John._

_No problem. Hey, are you working tomorrow?_

_Until one._

_A group of us are going to the beach - if you wanted to come after._

_Oh. Groups - at the beach - aren’t really my thing._

_Right, well, text me if you change your mind._

_Yea, okay. Goodnight._

_Goodnight, Sherlock._

When he comes in from the rain, he greets his mom and dad, sitting on the couch, drinking a bottle of wine while they watch a movie Sherlock doesn’t recognize. He pops a bag of popcorn and brings it upstairs where he changes out of his uniform and into pajamas. He turns on the radio and finds himself turning the station from modern hits to the one that plays all the 70′s and 80′s music. He lies against his duvet, and starts to think about the beach - it’s always hot when the rain stops, and a dip in the ocean doesn’t sound like a terrible idea, and John wouldn’t have invited him if he didn’t want him to be there, but his friends - Sherlock had met them, and they weren’t the type to enjoy the company of a still too skinny geek.

He turns off the radio and climbs underneath his covers - it’s quiet with Mary gone. Mycroft moved out two years earlier, and now it’s just Sherlock and the silence. In the morning, he showers, has a cup of coffee - black with lots of sugar - and waits for Mycroft to pick him up.

Mycroft’s apartment is close to the city center so he can be close to the courthouse where he clerks, but he still comes every morning to pick Sherlock up, and usually brings him home at night. His car is not an old beat up Toyota but rather a barely three-year-old black Bentley.

_I have a meeting this afternoon. I don’t know if I’ll be able to pick you up from work right away._

_I have plans anyway._

_You have plans?_

_I’m going to the beach with a friend?_

_The beach? With a friend?_

_I certainly hope you contribute more than an echo at your meeting._

_I’m just not sure what to say to the idea of you having plans - with a friend._

_There’s nothing to make of it. It’s only John, and it’s a hot day._

_Well, have a good time._

Work is much the same as every breakfast crowd- blue haired ladies and the wrinkled men who dare not cross them ordering runny eggs and overcooked bacon, and piping hot coffee. He counts his tips at the end of the shift, and changes from his uniform to black and white swim shots in the bathroom. 

The beach is just outside the diner, and Beakman’s Point, where John likes to surf is only a few miles down, so Sherlock walks across the sand until he comes across the group: Mike Stamford - a little heavy but still good-looking with lush, chestnut hair from a greaser in the 50′s and thick, black glasses. and then John’s friend Bill from England, who comes to visit every summer - fit, tan, and as long as he doesn’t open his mouth, perfectly perfect to look at, and Janine, Mary’s best friend in a red bikini that makes Sherlock a little more than uncomfortable. 

And John. His wetsuit is bent at his waist, revealing just a taste of the white skin that never gets touched by the sun, his hair is wet and slicked back by his hand - he’s so beautiful, so quintessentially California, and for the first time, as he licks his lips before wrapping them around a bottle of beer, Sherlock sees him as more than his sister’s boyfriend, but as someone who stirs the hormones deep inside of him.

_Sherlock! I didn’t think you were going to come._

_I am still invited, aren’t I?_

_Of course._

John licks his lips again, and Sherlock tries to remember all the other times he’s seen John do that. To be honest, while he always got along with him, and saw him nearly every day, Sherlock never bothered to really pay attention to him, to know the things about him he wouldn’t share with anyone else, and now he wants to know everything. 

Sherlock mostly ignores everyone else, and they ignore him too, but he can’t help but notice the looks they give John as he too ignores everyone besides Sherlock. He tried to teach Sherlock to surf, but he can barely manage to keep his balance on his stomach let alone stand on his feet. When the sun starts to set, they build a fire on the beach and make smores, and when everyone else leaves, John and Sherlock stay, lying on a blanket and watching the night sky above.

_I miss her._

_Mary?_

_Yea._

_Why didn’t you go with her?_

_She didn’t ask._

Sherlock is glad of that fact as he looks away from John and back at the stars. They lay they there a while longer before John takes Sherlock home. He’s nervous for the first time in the small space of that old car; acutely aware of the pattern of John’s breath - is it different than usual, is it the same as Sherlock’s? Of course not - Sherlock can feel his breath trying to catch up with the beat of his heart, and he hopes John can’t hear any of it. Probably not over the Hall and Oates coming through the shaky speakers. He’s so preoccupied with the ridiculous desire coursing through his veins and trying to burst through his chest, he doesn’t even notice when John’s pulled into Sherlock’s driveway.

_I’m glad you came today._

_You are?_

_Yea. We should do it again._

_We should?_

John laughs and Sherlock feels like a complete ass. How do people do this? How they have crushes in people, and still function like a normal human being? Seven hours ago he didn’t even know he had a crush on John, and now…

_Yea, Sherlock. We should._

_Okay._

_Goodnight, Sherlock._

_Goodnight._

_\- - - - - - - - -_

 

The summer progresses on with the sun rising, the heat swelling and then the sun setting. Sherlock’s phone constantly has a text message from John despite the fact they haven’t spent any time together outside work at the diner since the day at the beach, but work hasn't’ quite been the same. They find excuses to at least a glimpse of the other if they work opposite shifts, or find a way to touch each other whether it be a long linger over a dishrag, a slide of their aprons in the small space of the supply closet, or the time John reached over Sherlock for his order pad and brushed his cheek against Sherlock’s forehead.

Sherlock has no idea what’s going on, not in the context of himself at least. He wasn’t like the other boys his age - not just that he wasn’t interested in girls, but he wasn’t interested in anyone at all - he appreciated the aesthetic of other boys, but he never wanted them, and why all of a sudden did he even want John? 

They worked an early shift together, and as Sherlock is hanging up his apron he’s stopped by John.

_What are you doing tonight?_

_Organizing my sock drawer_

_Are you serious?_

_Why wouldn’t I be serious about that?_

_Of course. Who would joke around about socks? Well, if you can manage to tear yourself away from that, would you like to go to the carnival with me?_

_Who else would be going? I don’t think Bill likes me very much, and I think Janine likes me too much._

_No one. Just you and me._

_Like a date?_

_Yea, yes. I mean, maybe._

_Can I do that? Go on a date - with you?_

_If you want to._

_I do._

_Alright. Good. Good. I’ll pick you up at seven, yea?_

_Okay._

_Okay._

Sherlock goes home and with four hours until seven, he’s not sure what to do with himself. He tries to finish a book he started the night before, but can’t get past the first three sentences, so he starts a game of chess with himself, but he can’t see any moves - not even one to get him started. He leaves his room to pace the hall, still not sure how to occupy his time - 3 hours now - and ends up in Mary’s bedroom. She didn’t take much of her stuff with her, mostly because her apartment was going to be small, and she was sharing it with three other girls, but Sherlock is sure she had other reasons in mind to leave behind the stuffed Kermit the Frog on the shelf above her desk. 

He lies on her bed and stares at the flaking cracks of her ceiling. He hasn’t even talked to her since she left three weeks ago, not really talked anyway, they just exchanged pleasantries, and Mary kept sending pictures of the different places she had been too. Mycroft was always his brother - a protector whether Sherlock wanted him to be or not, but Mary was his friend more than she was his sister, and he missed her. 

He turns on his side and finds John’s face staring at him. An old photograph is taped to her bedside table, faded from time. He was so young it almost didn’t even look like him, but the smile is undeniable. God, she had loved him for a long time, and Sherlock always assumed he loved her the same, but yet she didn’t ask John to go with her, and he never asked her to stay, and now he was taking Sherlock on a date…

The confusion in his head proves to be too much and he falls asleep, waking with just fifteen minutes before the clock would turn to seven. He showers quickly, dresses in dark jeans and a mint green t-shirt and fights with the damn curls at his forehead that never wanted to stay put. 

Then the doorbell rings, and his mom’s voice after that. He goes downstairs to find John in the kitchen, rosewood colored shorts and a champagne-colored shirt buttoned over a plain white one. 

_Hey._

_Hi._

They’re nearly down the drive to John’s car when Sherlock has an idea. He pulls on John’s arm back up the drive and to the garage.

_What are you doing?_

_Giving your car a break._

He types in the security code and lifts open the door. There are four cars inside, but it’s the bronze two-door Mustang that Sherlock takes the keys for off a hook in the back and hands to John.

_You can’t - are you serious?_

_Yes._

_Sherlock, I can’t drive that car - it’s -”_

_“You’ll do just fine. Now come on.”_

Sherlock gets in the car, and it takes John a few minutes more of shock before he gingerly slips into the leather seat, puts the key in and turns the ignition. The look on John’s face when the engine vibrates everything around them makes Sherlock smile, though he hides it on the back of his hand. 

The carnival comes every year and sets up by the boardwalk. Sherlock hasn’t gone since his first summer in California, but he’s excited to be there now with John. Everything is lit with vintage bulbs on a string, the smell of popcorn and sugar overtakes every street they walk down. They stop to play a game - the one where you throw too small baseballs at too heavy wooden milk bottles. Sherlock knocks down one, but John manages to get them all.

_Did you just win me a prize?_

_No. I won myself a prize, and then realized I have enough stuffed bananas with eyes and a mouth and gifted this one to you.”_

_Oh. Well, thank you? I really needed one of these._

_We could all use a stuffed banana now and then._

They laugh, unsuccessfully play a few more games, get some ice cream, ride the Ferris wheel and decide they’ve had enough childhood nostalgia to last them both a lifetime. 

_I don’t think I’m ready to give this car up yet._

_Don’t. It’s still early._

John drives them along the coast, up the foothills and parks along a scenic pullover where they get out and dangle their feet along the edge of the cliff underneath the safety bar. 

The city is lit up underneath him, spanning for miles and miles on either side of the ocean

_Sherlock?_

_Hmm?_

They turn to each other, Sherlock knows what John wants and he wants it too, but instead, they just look at each other and say nothing. 

They sit a while longer in silence, and John brings Sherlock home. He stops in front of the garage, and they again find themselves sitting in silence.

_Still not ready to give up the car?_

_Actually, it’s you I’m having trouble letting go of._

_Oh. Well, it’s only ten hours until -_

Sherlock is cut off by Joh kissing him. It lasts for what’s all too short because Sherlock is sure in that moment a lifetime of kissing John would never be enough. His lips are softer than Sherlock would have thought, and he thanks the medicated chapstick he can taste on them for that. 

_Did that make things any easier?_

_No, but my chest isn’t burning anymore._

_Really? Mine is on fire._

John reaches across the stick shift, and kisses him again - slow and gentle, pulling out Sherlock’s bottom lip. 

_Better?_

_Um, yea-yes. Yes._

_I guess I’ll see you at work tomorrow._

_Yea. Yes._

_Alright then. Goodnight._

John gets out of the car, and Sherlock watches him walk away and get into his own. He doesn’t even realize the kind of fool he made out of himself until John drives away. 

_Stupid!_

He pulls his car into the garage and goes up to his room. He lies on his bed and sends John a text in an effort to make him believe he isn’t an incoherent idiot whose never been kissed before. He figures John wouldn’t check it while he’s driving, but when ten minutes pass, and then another, and then another, he starts to worry that the damage was too extensive, and when his text alert finally goes off nearly an hour later his chest burns again with anticipation like it never has before, but it isn’t John, it’s a photo of Mary outside the Metropolitan Opera House.

_I went to see The Four Temperpants. You would have loved it - we’ll go again when you visit._

_I’m visiting? SH_

_Of course, you are! Sherlock, you belong in New York, I’m serious. We were never meant for palm trees and endless sunshine._

_Well, we are British, after all. SH_

_I just talked to John. He said you’ve been keeping him company._

_Yea, I suppose. SH_

_Good. I wouldn’t want my two favorite guys to be too lonely without me._

_Right. Well, I have a shift in the morning…so SH_

_Okay. Love you!_

_Love you too. SH_

Well, of course, John didn’t text him back, he was talking to Mary - his girlfriend. She probably told him she loved him too, and he said it back, and I’m sure he never mentioned that the time he was spending with Sherlock involved shoving his tongue down his throat. Not that Sherlock mentioned it either. He checks his inbox again, but there’s no message from John, so he silences the phone and climbs underneath his covers. 

Is this who he is? A thief? He made it to eighteen without a kiss, without the real desire for anyone, and when it finally happens, as he supposed it always inevitably would, it’s with his own sister’s boyfriend. 

 

\- - - - - - - - - - -

 

Sherlock calls in for his shift the next morning having never heard from John, and reading the texts from Mary over and over again. Instead of work he sits out by the pool, and that’s where he is - sunglasses, navy swim trunks, and a pitcher of iced tea next to him when John shows up blocking the sun Sherlock has been trying to soak in. 

_I heard you weren’t feeling well, so I brought you soup._

_From the diner?_

_No. I made it myself._

_You made me soup?_

_Yea. I make it for everyone when they’re sick, but you seem to be doing better._

_Uh yea, I am, but thank you._

_Since you’re over your sickness maybe we can catch a movie._

_I’m actually quite busy._

_Sitting here?_

_Yes. It’s exhausting work._

_That’s fine. I’ll just sit here too. If that’s alright with you._

John takes off his shirt and Sherlock catches the tattoo between his abdomen and his hip - a geometrical wolf with scattered watercolor.

_Of course, it’s alright. Why wouldn’t it be alright?_

John takes the lounge chair next to Sherlock, and they sit a few minutes before Sherlock closes his eyes against the sun. It’s a few more minutes and he hears a splash that makes him open his eyes to see John in the pool.

_Come in._

_No, thank you._

_Afraid to get wet?_

_Hardly._

_Afraid of drowning then?_

_I haven’t been afraid of anything since I was a little boy._

_What were you afraid of?_

_The dark._

_Well, it isn’t dark in here._

_No, it isn’t._

_Then come in._

Sherlock sighs and slides into the water. It’s cold, but it does feel good to his hot skin. John immediately grabs his hands and pulls Sherlock into him. Sherlock’s heart beats wildly, and he can’t stop thinking about kissing him, about all the times he saw Mary kiss him in that pool.

_John-_

_I’m not dark either._

_I know._

Their noses touch before their mouths, but then they’re kissing until they can’t breathe, and then they kiss again until the water pushes them over. 

The next few weeks is nothing more than work and careless kissing; swimming, surfing and driving up the coast. He still talks to Mary, and he knows John does too, but neither say anything about what’s been going on between them, and Sherlock tries not to wonder what John is saying to her - does he still tell her he loves her, do they sext, exchange nude photos? He knows they’ve fucked. He heard them a few times when he was trying to sleep, and he saw them do it in the pool. John was her first and he wonders sometimes if he’ll be the same for him? Is that where their relationship is going?

They’re at John’s rented bungalow on the beach after a day of surfing. Showered, changed, and full of delivery pizza Sherlock absent-mindedly searches for something to watch on the television in John’s bedroom when John leans over and starts to kiss on Sherlock’s neck, and the hand that usually stays on Sherlock’s shoulder moves over the cotton of his t-shirt until it stops at the waistband of Sherlock’s shorts.

_Is this okay?_

_Yes._

It’s more than okay and Sherlock squirms under John’s touch over his shorts. He doesn’t want to give away that at 18 no one’s ever done this to him. He’s so lost in the sensations of John’s hand and the kissing that it takes a minute for him to realize John’s underneath all the fabric between them and he’s pushing it all down out of his way, and then his bare hand is on Sherlock’s bare dick, and he really, really doesn’t want John to know this is the first time, but he’s having a hard time keeping it together as John’s hot breath and his lips and his tongue replace what his fingers had been doing. 

Sherlock grasps at the sheets, at John’s hair, at whatever he can touch trying to control the feelings coursing through him. He tries to make a word, any word even if it doesn’t make sense, but all he can do is hold his breath and then let it out with something like a whimper.

When he’s lying next to John after his orgasm, and trying to come back to the ground below him, he suddenly starts to panic about having to return the favor, and he know John wants it because he’s half-hard in his underwear and his fingers are brushing against the cotton. 

Sherlock lets out a breath and starts to palm over his pants. John’s eyes close, but he’s quiet and Sherlock starts to worry he’s doing something wrong, and as much as he wants John to think he’s done this before, he wants more for him to enjoy it.

_John, I - I have no idea what I’m doing._

_Just keep going. It’s good._

Sherlock keeps on as he is, but finds the courage to slip his hand underneath, and John licks his lips and thrusts into Sherlock’s hand.

_Yea, that’s good, Sherlock - mmmm. Kiss me._

Sherlock does as he’s asked of, and John cums in his hand. 

They take a moment before they clean up and fall asleep with the dim light from the TV in the background. When they wake up sometime in the late morning, they have fruit for breakfast and forget their plan to drive up the mountains and instead lay in bed and get each other off all day. 

The next few weeks go much that way - work, beach, a handjob, blowjob, lazy afternoons at the pool until they’re back at John’s kissing on the sofa, breathing heavy and grinding against each other. Sherlock doesn’t know what comes over him - a surge of hormones he can’t ignore - and he needs more of John, as much of John as he possibly can get.

_John, I want to fuck you._

John stops kissing him and looks at Sherlock, and suddenly Sherlock thinks he’s said the wrong thing. If John had wanted to have sex with him, he would have by now. It’s not like John doesn’t have the experience or that Sherlock would say no. An odd handjob at the beach was different than actual sex, different than being fucked by someone when you’re always the one who’s done the fucking. Oh, Sherlock was stupid. 

_I mean - never mind. Forget I said anything._

_Yes._

_Yes, what? You’ll forget I said anything?_

_Yes, I want you to fuck me._

_Oh._

And now, thinking about it, Sherlock is nervous. He knows the mechanics, and what generally to do, but when the condom from John’s bathroom is on and John insists he’s prepared enough in the three minutes it took Sherlock to leave and come back to the room, he freezes for a minute while his mind races on: has John done this before? When would he even have the opportunity? Is he going to hurt him? Should he stop if it hurts? How fast does he go? Or does he go slow? 

_Sherlock?_

_Have you done this before?_

_No. I’ve only ever been with- well-_

He stops because they both know who he’s talking about, and if there’s any moment they don’t want to think about Mary, it’s that moment. 

_Then why now? Why me?_

_I don’t know. I just - I want this. I want you._

Sherlock decides it’s a good enough answer, and John kisses him before lying down on his back against the pillows and lifting his legs over Sherlock’s shoulders. 

He’s still nervous, but he takes a breath and watches John’s eyes widen then close with a flinch.

_Are you okay?_

_I’m fine. You can move. Please move. Slow._

Sherlock nods and slowly thrusts against him. He’s never felt anything as amazing before, never seen anything as beautiful as the cracks of pain and pleasure on John’s face. He wants to close his own eyes as he starts to feel the rush flooding through him, but he can’t look away as John gets close to cumming and starts to stroke his cock. 

_Sherlock- Sh_

John’s always focused when they’re fooling around - he tells Sherlock how good he’s doing or what he wants him to do different, and he always hums from somewhere deep inside, and he’s trying now, but he can’t form a word, and his hum is more like a nasal whine. Sherlock decides he can move a little faster and it makes John’s body jump, but he keeps going, keeps watching until he can barely hold anymore. He wants John to cum first, but he isn’t sure he can keep going.

_John, I’m -_

_Yes, keep going. I just need-_

He doesn’t even finish his sentence before he cums across his own stomach, and Sherlock takes no more time until he cums too. 

He’s never believed that having sex would make him feel different, but as he’s lying next to John, he doesn’t even feel like himself - of course, it could just be that he’s actually numb from the entire experience. 

John is quiet, and again Sherlock starts to worry, starts to wonder if he regrets everything.

_That was…_

_Good?_

_Amazing._

 

_\- - - - - - - - - -_

 

Mary’s been bothering them both to come visit her in New York, but they keep putting her off. Sherlock has taken to ignoring her altogether, afraid he’ll tell her what’s going on between him and John, and John is still keeping it secret from everyone. Especially Mary. 

They both worked one morning and found a secluded place on the beach where they park Sherlock’s car and try their best to fuck in the backseat - it really isn’t that easy. 

When they get back to Sherlock’s, there’s a rental car in the driveway, and they know exactly who it temporarily belongs to. 

_Let’s just get back in the car and drive away._

_We can’t avoid her forever._

_Really? Because I was starting to think that was your plan._

_Honestly, Sherlock, do you think it’s easy for me to tell her I’ve been fucking around on her all summer? With her brother no less?_

_I never said it was easy, but it isn’t impossible._

_It wasn’t something I wanted to tell her over the phone or in a text message._

_Well, she’s here now._

John sighs and they go inside the house. Mary is in the living room and she jumps to her feet right away and pulls them both in for a hug and a kiss on Sherlock’s cheek before she all but tosses him away like a rag doll but keeps her hands on John’s shoulders.

_Why didn't you tell anyone you were coming?_

_I wanted to surprise you. Wow, you look good. Your pictures didn’t show how tan you really are._

Mary runs her finger down the center of his chest and Sherlock has to forcefully hold onto the back of the sofa in order to not jump on top of her. And pictures? John was sending her pictures of his non-tan areas?

_Well, Sherlock and I are out in the sun a lot._

Mary looks over to Sherlock and smiles.

_I see that. Look, I could use about three hours alone with you, and then how about we all get some dinner?_

_Oh, I think Sherlock and I-_

_Actually, I’m pretty busy tonight. You can have him all to yourself until the sun comes up._

_Sherlock tears his nails away from the fabric of the sofa and storms out of the living room, out of the house. John follows, calling after him._

_Will you just wait a minute, please?_

_No._

_Sherlock! You’re acting like a child._

_What kind of pictures did you send her? Was it before or after I made you cum?_

_Sherlock-_

_Just fuck off, John._

Sherlock gets into his car, even though he still doesn’t have his license and speeds away. 

He drives around until he isn’t sure where he is anymore and turns around and goes back. Once home he goes up in his room and turns his music on loud. Mary isn’t there, so she has to be with John, and he drives himself crazy thinking about what they’re doing together - it’s already been over three hours. 

When it’s going on five hours, he hears the front door slam, and Mary’s footsteps stomp up the stairs until her bedroom door slams. He doesn’t want to go to her, but he does anyway, knocking on her door and then gently pushing it open to find her laying on the bed.

_What’s wrong?_

_John is an asshole!_

No argument there.

_Did you -?_

_After he stalled me forever we started to, and it felt so good to be with him again. I mean, I slept with a couple guys I met in New York, but no one can compare to John. Anyway, I chose that moment to tell him I sent an application to The Culinary Institute and he was accepted. and he flipped out…I thought he would be happy, to get out of here, move in together and get married._

_He wants to marry you?_

_I thought he did. But he told me he met someone, and that he’s in love with her…You’ve been spending a lot of time with, who is it? It’s Janine, isn’t it? That slut._

_No, I don’t think it’s Janine. He said he was in love?_

_Hopelessly, recklessly, foolishly in love is actually what I said._

John is leaning against the door frame and Sherlock can’t stop smiling when he turns to look at him.

_You’re a damn romantic sap._

_Too many adjectives? I thought about adding desperately._

_No. It was perfect, and I love you too._

Sherlock crosses to him and kisses him. They almost forget Mary is even in the room until she jumps from the bed and stands just behind them.

_What the fuck is going on here?_

_I’m afraid I’m in love with your brother._

_And I love him back._

_Yea, I caught the show. I mean, what.the.fuck?_

_You just told me you slept with two different guys in New York._

_Because that was allowed - it was okay! It was never okay to fall in love with someone else._

_It isn’t as though we wanted to hurt you - we both love you, Mary._

_No, you don’t. If you loved me this wouldn’t be happening._

_This wouldn’t be happening if you had asked me to go! I asked you to stay here, but you couldn’t - you wouldn’t._

_But, I do want you to come._

_It’s too late now._

_Then, it’s my fault? For wanting a taste of independence? I love you, John, I never questioned that. If you want to fuck my brother, fine, but don’t love him._

_I do though._

_Well, that’s brilliant. Bloody brilliant._

Mary always got British when she was at her angriest. Sherlock steps away from John and tries to reach out to her.

_Mary-_

_No!_

John gives it a go next

_Mary sweetheart, calm down._

_Don’t tell me to calm down and don’t call me sweetheart again. In fact, don’t talk to me ever again. Either of you._

_I’m your brother._

_No, you’re not. You’re a little bitch pretending to be like this innocent little animal never letting anyone even kiss you and then I’m gone a few weeks and you’re all over my boyfriend_

_For god’s sake Mary, you don’t own him! And you left him here with a free pass-_

_To screw, but not to screw you. I  mean, I’m sitting here telling you how much I missed being fucked by him, and you just stood there laughing to yourself about how he fucks you now._

_Mary-_

_No! No! I’m done with the both of you. You’re nothing to me anymore._

Sherlock goes after her when she leaves the bedroom and is storming down the stairs

_I told you I’m done._

_I know. I just wanted to let you know John doesn’t screw me. I screw him._

_Fuck you!_

Sherlock stands at the top of the stairs and watches her go. He feels a bit bad for all the anger and spite that made him tell her what he just did, but he deserves John just as much as she ever did.

He goes back into the bedroom where John is still standing, looking guilty, but Sherlock isn’t sure exactly what he feels guilty about.

_I wanted to tell you differently than that._

_Like naked, and not with Mary in the room?_

_Something like that. Should I try again?_

_Maybe later_

_Don’t let her anger ruin this._

_I’m not._

_Sherlock, I love you_

_Desperately?_

_Yes._

John pulls Sherlock into him and kisses him as slow as he can muster

**Author's Note:**

> *********  
> ***********  
> *************
> 
> Follow my tumblrs!!!  
> Johnlock/writing goodness: https://bearddreamcatcher.tumblr.com/  
> Personal confessional/writing: https://yourbitchystudentcatworld.tumblr.com/


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